


Welcome to the Sky

by orphan_account



Series: Love Bites (But So Does Stiles) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Derek's ass is incredible yeah, M/M, Stiles is a creepy werewolf, incredible boy asses equal happy werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So he's a werewolf with poor impulse control. Sue him. Or the one where Stiles is the creepy–but less brooding–werewolf and Derek is the regular teen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for a prompt given to me on my Tumblr–but I've tweaked it a bit and changed some things around! This is unbeta'd, but I've read it over five thousand times, so I'm hoping it'll be okay to post!
> 
> Title is taken from the Slow Kids at Play song of the same name.

Stiles, you see, is a simplistic guy. He’s been by himself since his father moved away to Florida for retirement (“You wouldn’t believe how stressful it was being one of the town’s only sheriffs and a werewolf at the same time,” his father had said, and Stiles could sympathize with that) and sometimes he sends Stiles postcards about the hot weather and the even hotter chicks, but usually he’s just alone.  
  
There’s Scott, but Scott isn’t very understanding about the whole werewolf thing–well, Scott isn’t very understanding about anything and more often than not Stiles is forced to face the fact that his best friend is an idiot–but they’re fine. They’re always fine, even if Scott went off to college and met a girl named Allison in his freshman English class and they talk even less.  
  
Stiles doesn’t mind, though. His father’s always told him how relationships, whether they be platonic or otherwise, rarely work out with humans. Something about them not understanding the whole superior werewolf complex, or something. Stiles wasn’t really listening during that whole talk.  
  
Not that he ever listens, anyway.

 

And then he meets Derek.  
  
Stiles had moved around a lot after his father moved to Florida. He didn’t want to be stuck in Beacon Hills for the rest of his life, because the town was kind of constricting in its openness. Stiles wanted to explore (he had always been a little more than the healthy dose of curious), and the ache to maybe find a wayward pack in search of a new member was harder to ignore now that his father was down in Florida soaking up the hot humid weather–and probably the woman, too, which Stiles seriously didn’t want to think about, but did so regardless because werewolf connections are a bitch and leave little-to-no room for privacy.  Of course, that hadn’t happened, which sucked–and is one of the reasons why he’s back–but, you know, life.

 

So, Stiles hates life. But mostly he just hates Derek Hales’ face.

 

Stiles is back in town, and Derek Hale has somehow become hotter than those hot enchiladas that Stiles orders by the dozen from Taco Bell, and yet he still manages to be at the bottom of the social ladder. _That_ fact, he doesn’t quite understand, because he is literally God in human form (hence why Stiles hates Derek’s face, because seriously, _how do you face_ with that kind of face?) and still only has two friends. Even _then_ , one of those friends is his sister.  
  
It’s kind of pathetic, in the kind of adorable way that makes Stiles’ wolf want to follow Derek’s ass around like a lost puppy.  
  
So, this is how Stiles ends up following Derek around town. At first, he does it unconsciously–well, _he_ does it unconsciously. His wolf, on the other hand doesn’t, he never does anything unconsciously; yeah, they really need to have a talk about that.  
  
They’ll see each other in the grocery store, or maybe Stiles will (not so) accidentally stumble upon a lacrosse practice that he'll stay and watch, hanging out behind the bleachers–Stiles is twenty-two and it would be undoubtedly creepy if anyone saw him watching seventeen-year-old kids catching balls; sometimes even _pitching_ them–even the rich and otherwise hilarious pun can’t even justify his undoubtedly pedophilic behavior.  
  
Stiles never expects to get caught, because he thinks he’s being pretty slick, but during one of his favorite stake-outs, there are hot hands on his neck, grabbing him out from under the bleachers and Derek-fucking-Hale is staring at him with a perplexed and slightly angry look on his face.  
  
Stiles seriously, stupidly wants to lick _it_.  
  
“What are you doing?” He asks, like Stiles isn’t older, like Stiles isn’t some terrifyingly awesome werewolf that could tear him apart with one clawed finger.  
  
Of course, no one knows that Stiles is a werewolf in general, but he’s sure if they did, they’d cower in fear because of how much of an exceptional badass he is. He's _positive_.  
  
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Watching?”  
  
“Why are you under the bleachers, then?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, suppressing a growl. His wolf seriously isn’t liking this whole ‘20 questions and then some’ game this dude’s playing. Even if he is attractive. _Especially_ because he’s attractive.  
  
“It’s the best view down here,” Stiles says, and it’s the truth.  
  
Derek narrows his eyes, finally releasing his shirt–Thank _God_ –and then levels Stiles with a confused look. “But you can only see our asses.”  
  
Stiles grins, dirty and rich, kind of on the edge of too-sexual, because goddammit, this kid is a _minor_. Illegal to rendezvous with, illegal to even want or to touch, but this Derek guy would be an idiot if he thought Stiles wasn’t going to at least look.  
  
His ass is crafted from Adonis himself–hell, maybe Derek _is_ Adonis, a modernized and otherwise social failure Adonis, but Adonis nonetheless–and just because no one else in this godforsaken town is going to do it, doesn't mean that Stiles isn't going to take the free gift himself.  
  
He’s doing the kid a favor, really. Or at least that’s what Stiles tells himself, because he feels like less of a fucking creeper that way–he’s already creepy enough because of the whole werewolf thing, but it’s not like he can actually change that. You know, genes and all, you're kind of stuck with those.  
  
“Your point? I’d appreciate if you’d make it.”  
  
Derek just looks at him like he’s disgusted and is thinking about showering three times over. Stiles represses the leer that’s threatening to surface, and then decides to hell with it. It’s not like Derek will do anything but brood at him–which the kid does enough of anyway.  
  
Repulsion is coming off of Derek in waves now, and apprehension, too, like he’s not sure what to think of Stiles yet–like he’s not sure if he wants to write him off, either. Below all of that boring shit that Stiles doesn’t pay attention to, because he’s a werewolf and he _can_ ignore everything useless, is that same, almost nauseating attraction Stiles feels for Derek. He grins victoriously, unable to quite help himself.

 

So he's a werewolf with poor impulse control. Sue him.

 

Realization lights up in Derek’s eyes, and yeah, Stiles is pretty sure the guy just figured out who the hell has been staring at his ass for the last hour.  
  
“You’re Stiles Stilinski, aren’t you?”  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes. “You idiots do know that Stiles is not actually my first name, right?”  
  
Derek shrugs. “Then what is it?”  
  
Stiles smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asks, and then without thinking, adds, “Let me take you on a date and maybe I’ll tell you.”  
  
“How do you even know I’m gay?” Derek asks, like he’s challenging Stiles, and the stupidest thing you could do is challenge a werewolf.  
  
Multiply that by ten, and that’s basically like challenging someone like Stiles.  
  
“I saw you checking out the goalie’s ass,” Stiles says, because there’s no way someone with a jaw line and lips like that isn’t at least 5% bisexual. “Danny, isn’t it?”  
  
Derek flushes, but makes no move to turn away from Stiles, and the disgust and apprehension are fading rapidly enough to let Stiles know just how much he's attracted to him.  
  
“You know, I heard the rumors that you never shut up–” Derek says, and there’s this tiny growl Stiles can’t help but release, his wolf is a pissed off motherfucker when it wants to be, really. Stiles is just the wolf’s oyster. “And that you’re a smug bastard, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”  
  
Stiles leers at him. “Take me on a date and maybe you can wipe it off,” he says. “Or we can wipe each other off. Whatever comes first.”  
  
“You’re like twenty-five, Stiles.”  
  
“I’m twenty-two, actually,” Stiles says, not that it makes it any better, but if Stiles is going to hell–and he is, he _so_ is, with this kind of bubbling attraction he feels for someone who has barely even finished puberty yet–he might as well get a little taste, too. He owes himself that much, after creeping out on Derek for the last few weeks. It’s not as easy as it sounds, the guy is seriously hard to find.  
  
No one can resist Stiles for too long. He likes to think it’s because of his disgusting good looks and indestructible charm, but he’s pretty sure it’s because he annoys the person to the point of accepting. That's just as fine, too. He doesn't care how he acheives it, the only thing that matters is getting what he wants. And Stiles _always_ always gets what he wants. Right now, what he wants is Derek–Derek, who is intense and somehow a nobody. Derek who probably hates Stiles just because he thinks Stiles is a pedo with an ass fixtation–and he'll get Derek, he's sure of it.

 

He now knows that Derek is at least a little attracted to him, and it’s only a matter of time before Stiles can turn his “no” into a “yes” if it’s not already there–Stiles has this creeping suspicion that it is, if Derek's somehow appreciative gaze is anything to go by.  
  
“Still illegal,” Derek tries, but it’s weak.  
  
“Still pretty sure that you haven’t exactly said no yet.”  
  
Derek heaves a put-upon sigh, like agreeing to go out with Stiles is absolutely the worst idea in the world (it is) and that something will probably go wrong (it definitely will), but he ends up nodding, so Stiles counts that as a win. Stiles represses the insane and childish urge to fist pump and instead grins at Derek, along with resisting the wolf’s want to bury his face into Derek’s neck to just _inhale_. Hah, inhale a Hale.  
  
“Fine,” he agrees. “Just no more creeping on my practices.”  
  
Stiles smirks. “Deal,” Stiles drawls; this is too easy, like taking candy from a baby easy. “I’ll just stick to lurking in your room instead,” he says, and then bounces away before Derek can tell him otherwise–not that he would listen to him, anyway, but Stiles would hate for the boy to waste his breath.  
  
This is going to be _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously thinking about writing a sequel to this. Seriously convincing myself it's a bad idea. -______-


End file.
